


The Blood of Kings

by sansakatara



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Could Be Canon, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, reading fire and blood inspired me to write this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:41:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25899850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansakatara/pseuds/sansakatara
Summary: And that one day, House Targaryen would understand the meaning of her words as well.
Relationships: Argella Durrandon & Argilac Durrandon, Davos Baratheon & Argella Durrandon, Orys Baratheon & Aegon I Targaryen
Comments: 1
Kudos: 29





	The Blood of Kings

I.  
3 AC  
"Your bath is ready, my lady.”  
 _Your Grace,_ Argella silently corrects as she turned away from the window. It had been two years since her valiant father lost both his crown and his life. When Orys Baratheon arrived at Storm’s End with his army, Maester Samwell implored Argella to open her gates and yield to the brother of the pretender-king. _There would be no shame in it._ Argella refused. She understood that refusal meant her life- the lives of them all. But a part of her father would have understood that death could await him when he had ridden out. She knew her father would agree with her decision. _Remember our words, my daughter,_ he had told her solemnly after she kissed his cheek, when she had come to see him off. Those parting words would be the final thing Argella would ever receive from her father.

That, and his own murderer as her husband.

Her men proved to be weaker than she. They lasted for two days, before they stripped her of her clothes and crown and delivered her bound in chains to Orys’ camp.

What made this betrayal more hideous was the fact that her father's murderer had treated her gently than the men who had been sworn to her, but who had decided those oaths meant nothing.

If she had been her father’s son, she knew Orys would have executed her.   
But she was her father’s daughter, and she was more useful alive.  
‘I will take you as my bride,’ he said. ‘And to honour your father’s memory, I will take his words and sigil too.’  
‘Is that because you have no words or sigil of your own, bastard?’ Argella snarled. She stared across the table at him, wrapped in the furs that covered her nakedness. She sat on the chair like it was a throne. 

Orys did not flinch, but merely took of his wine before speaking. Argella’s own cup had remained untouched.  
‘Guilty.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘But I think it would please your father, to know that House Durrandon will live on through his sigil and words.’  
‘Don’t you dare presume to know what my father would want.’ Even just saying his name hurt. ‘You didn’t know him.’

‘I know he was a brave man. And I know he raised a brave woman.’ He put his hand on the table, almost as if he wanted to reach for her. ‘There are all different kinds of bravery, my lady. There is the bravery your father displayed in battle. There is the bravery you showed when you refused to yield your castle to me. And sometimes… there is bravery in acceptance.’

  
Acceptance, Argella thought. How could a simple word leave such a foul taste in her mouth? _Accept the pretender as your king. Accept me as your husband and lord, the man who killed your father. Accept the life that was meant to be yours is gone now._  
It had been over two years since Argella had gone from being a princess-born to a two -day queen, to lady wife of Lord Baratheon of Storm’s End. But two years could not revoke a lifetime, and often Argella found herself thinking these words whenever she was addressed in such a way.

“Thank you.” Argella shed her robe, exposing her swollen breasts and protruding stomach that held her child within. She was six moons gone, and she had come to rely on hot baths to ease her discomfort. Joy’s strong hands helped her into the tub. At her touch, Argella had to fight down that sense of panic she felt whenever someone touched her. She had to remind herself that Joy had never hurt her, and those men had been sent away. I _don’t care where you send them_. She told Orys. _I will not have them here, in my presence. I will not have them here, in my castle._ If Orys noticed the way she stressed that it was her castle, he said nothing- only complied. She would have preferred to see them beheaded and their corpses fed to stray dogs, but you couldn’t have everything.

‘You may leave.’ Joy nodded and gave a quick curtesy, before leaving. She would only be in the next room, Argella knew and would come once she called for her again. However, for now, Argella simply wished to be alone.  
She often preferred it that way, these days.  
Argella felt her stomach kick, and she shifted in the tub to get more comfortable.  
‘You’re strong, aren’t you? Perhaps you’ll be as strong as your grandfather.’ She gave a sad smile. This child would never know his grandfather, thanks to the man who had planted his seed in Argella. Orys was delighted with her pregnancy and had insisted on her having the upmost care. It was almost sweet, Argella thought. If only she didn’t know that he was more concerned with the promise she could hold within – a precious son, to secure his Baratheon legacy. And for good measure, perhaps she could give him two more, before conveniently dying in childbed, as so many women did. 

After all, he would have what he needed from her by then. What was the point in her being alive?  
She felt her stomach kick, as if her question was being answered. _This._  
This child was just as much hers as he was Orys’.  
It was from her, not Orys, that her child would receive the blood of kings.  
And she would ensure her child understood what that meant.

II.

Her resolve weakens when her son is born.  
After he is cleaned and handed to her, she realizes she has something more precious to lose now than a crown.  
This was her flesh and blood, the only family she had in the world now.  
She wonders if perhaps she did deserve to lose her crown then, if she is so willing to give up just now. Her father had never given up. And neither had she. She had resolved to die when Orys had arrived with his army, and even when she had been joined to him, she had never given herself to him completely- keeping him at a distance and nurturing treasonous thoughts about the pretender-king and his sister-queens. But the moment her son had been born, that furious resolve had withered away.

She would not know it yet, but one day there would be another birth in this castle. The birth of a different boy, to a different Lady of Storm’s End, that would be the answer to the wish she had been forced to relinquish when her own son was born.

III.

To celebrate the birth of Davos, Orys announces that there will be a grand feast. And that King Aegon and his sisters will be in attendance.  
Argella cannot bear the thought of having them here. Of having to curtesy and call Aegon “His Grace”, when the only ruler she wanted to recognise was her father, and he was gone now. Thanks to Orys, and the people he served. Of having to pretend that she was proud to have her son be presented to these people.  
But she had no choice. “These people” were her king and queens (that unnaturalness she would never get used to.) She must not forget that now, for her son’s sake.

IV.

Excusing herself, Argella left the feast to temporarily seek the solace of her bedchambers.  
Illuminated in the candlelight, sat a woman at Argella’s dressing table.  
Argella gasped. “Who are you?” She demanded as she stepped into the room without thinking that it was perhaps not a good idea.  
The woman smiled as she turned to face Argella. She realized with a jolt that the woman was startlingly beautiful. She was tall and shapely, with dark curls and dark eyes.

“A friend.” She said simply.  
“A friend.” Argella repeated. She didn’t know why she hadn’t shouted for her guards yet. “Tell me why I should not call for the guards and have my husband question you? Or perhaps His Grace?”  
The woman smiled. “Oh, I can think of many reasons, Your Grace.”  
It is those two words that make Argella’s heart stop. Two beautiful, exhilarating, frightening words. “You speak treason.”  
The woman shrugged. “The only difference between us, my lady, is that I am open about mine.”  
Argella feels an absurd jolt of fear surge through her. But somehow, looking at this woman she knew she had a right to fear her.  
“What do you want?” Argella asked.  
The woman locked her eyes on Argella. “I am simply here to give you hope.” She handed Argella a golden mirror. “Look.”

Argella licked her lips as she held the mirror up.  
Instead of seeing her own reflection, Argella gasped to see a young girl gazing back. Pretty, with brown hair and sad grey eyes. The girl then faded, and Argella watched open-mouthed in horror as the mirror revealed a man effulged in flames, and another strangling himself to death as he fought futilely to reach a sword that lay out of his reach, and thus any hope as well. The image faded once more, to be succeeded by a handsome man with silver hair and purple eyes- instinct told her that this must be one of Aegon’s descendants. She watched, open-mouthed, as that same man’s ruby-studded armoured chest was smashed in by…. Why that man looked so familiar… and Argella discerned that this had to be one of her own descendants. Powerful and strong, the way her father had been. The scene shifted once more, and Argella found herself watching that same man now crowned. While the girl before her was certainly pretty, the girl that stood beside him was strikingly beautiful, with golden hair and emerald green eyes and a slender, graceful figure. Argella understood at once that this must be his queen. Behind them, was huge banners displaying her’s father’s stag.  
A crowned stag.

Suddenly, the images in the mirror ceased and Argella saw only herself now. She tore her eyes away to look at the woman before her.  
“Does this mean…” She was almost afraid to ask.  
The woman nodded. “It will not happen for many years and you and your children and grandchildren and greatgrandchildren and great-great-grandchildren will be bones and memory by the time it does, but I promise you- House Targaryen will fall. And it will be House Baratheon that rules in its place.”  
Argella’s heart was beating rapidly. There were so many questions she wanted to ask. Who was the girl with the sad grey eyes? What happened to their dragons? What caused House Baratheon to turn? Who else was involved?  
But at the same time, all she could think was this - House Targaryen will fall.  
House Targaryen will fall.  
House Targaryen will fall.  
And it would be her descendants that would be responsible for it.  
Her descendants that would claim back the crown that was taken from them.  
Argella’s heart took flight. Closing her eyes, laughter burst from her, as she realised that they would not just be getting back Storm’s End- they would be the rulers of the entire kingdom as well.  
She could almost hear her father laughing.  
Later when Argella returned to the feast with a ready excuse for taking longer than she intended, she watched Aegon talk with Orys, and thought how he had taught Westeros the meaning of fire and blood.  
And that one day, House Targaryen would understand the meaning of her words as well.


End file.
